


Fair Game

by justlikeabaroness



Series: Folie à Deux [3]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blindness, Death Threats, Eye Trauma, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-09 13:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7803514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeabaroness/pseuds/justlikeabaroness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junmyeon never wants to have to prove how tough he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fair Game

**Author's Note:**

> A/N #1: SMPA is short for Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency.
> 
> A/N #2: I put a dubcon tag up there because it's better to be safe, and because drugs are involved, but I tried to make it really clear from the get-go that it is really not dubcon. I hope I've succeeded, but best to set the record straight.
> 
> A/N: #3: Micro-dosing MDMA is a real thing, with the aim of giving you a comparable trippy experience without as many side effects. However. While I've tried to be as realistic as possible, I also don't want anyone thinking I actually know what I'm talking about beyond that. XD You've been warned.

Everyone has their favorite tools, regardless of their station in life. A baker will unintentionally gravitate toward one rolling pin; a gardener toward one rake. His counterpart at work favors a broken bottle. Kim Junmyeon has had Spike since he was running a schoolyard gang at the age of nine. He's driven every nail into the cracked baseball bat himself, and christened it each time a new one gets added. He's never killed anyone, so it's not like he has to worry about using a weapon most people don't have.

He'll have to arm himself with something more nondescript when he finds the guy that left Sehunnie blinded and bleeding, barely alive. He made that vow the second he got to Huimyeong Hospital that night.

It had been far easier to just say he was a friend, rather than a lover, an almost-boyfriend. They probably got sick of his questions, honestly, but at the same time, they could never blame him for asking. Or at least they never did to his face. When someone you care about is found unconscious and unresponsive by a neighbor, stuck to his own couch by his coagulating blood, you want to know every scrap of information, hoarding it like hard currency during a war. They never told him just how close Sehun came to death, but Junmyeon can guess. If the chance was remote, they wouldn't mind telling him it was.

They'd kept Sehun in the hospital for almost a week, each day getting worse even as his body began to get better. A distance had opened between them that Junmyeon still feels in his cold fingers and his sore heart. He'd tried to bring it up, to deal with it, but Sehun had taken to ignoring him. Whether it's physical or something else, Junmyeon doesn't know, and it causes him significant pain.

Speaking of significant pain. Sehun's eye sockets, both of them, have been upgraded from shattered to merely broken - but they won't operate yet. The doctor says he has to wait for the swelling and all that to go down before they can even try - but Junmyeon has to wonder why they bother being careful when Sehun has already said he can't see, when they put him through a machine and showed him where the optic nerve was ripped apart. Junmyeon knows that you don't regrow nerves. If they can't save his sight, what's the goddamned point of saving his eyes? And what's the point of keeping him locked in the hospital every time he goes back, as if he were the criminal? He's had three overnights in the hospital in the month since getting the shit beaten out of his face, and each time he's come home to Junmyeon's place almost silent, nosing into the nape of his neck like a child having a nightmare, and only speaking when spoken to.

That's scary, Sehun being silent. Normally, Sehun is, to be charitable, a bitch when he's ill. When he's silent, he's wounded in more ways than one.

Junmyeon tries to be calm and composed while he's around Sehun nowadays, especially since that coldness is still there, that sense of being locked out. But oh, it still eats at him, that he wasn't there. Friday night is usually their night, for talking or screwing or just spending time together, and he'd been in fucking Yanbian, near the North Korean border. He'd been waiting for a shipment of hard currency - which had, coincidentally, never arrived. Junmyeon usually handles his business in a reasonable manner; normally he can divorce his home life from the unavoidable brutality of his work. Now it has broken down the door; now it has taken a seat at his dinner table and kicked its feet up. He hates how good he's gotten at erasing the tears from his voice at the same time they're streaming down his face.

Right now, it's something like 5.30 in the morning. He's just finished a job, and he's headed down Geumha-ro toward the subway stop. He's headachey, jittery and pissed off, wishing he had Spike or any weapon, because the bile is creeping up in his throat and it makes him want to kill something. He's felt that way a lot lately. Junmyeon can't help replaying the conversation with the twitchily officious police officer for the twenty thousandth time in his head - _Call came around midnight. Foreigner - good Korean, but not perfect. Reporting a body in a private flat. When the morgue arrived, they found he was still alive. He didn't remember much except his name and yours._ Who in the name of all holiness was that foreigner?

Junmyeon shoves the station's door open as hard as he dares - CCTV is everywhere - and goes to catch his train back to his flat in Yeongdeungpo-gu, shuffling angrily down onto the platform. At least he doesn't have to expend the mental effort on changing lines. He leans against a pillar, closing his eyes, wanting to be in a warm bed with anyone who can distract him, because then at least he'd be warm. Instead, he's got a cold trail leading to one of the millions of foreigners in this country, a blinded lover-slash-friend-slash-fuck buddy-slash-who knows, and the overwhelming urge to either cry himself to sleep, fuck someone senseless, or make something bleed. He feels like a shaken bottle of soda, and it irritates him.

He's only got one more idea that might bear fruit. After that, he isn't sure just what he'll do, but it won't involve giving up, at least. Park Chanyeol is his ex, and he works at _Chosun Ilbo_. He covers crime. And really, Junmyeon ought to have spoken to him long before this. But their breakup wasn't pleasant - full of recriminations, worry and things said that are damn hard to take back even on a good day. Also, Chanyeol just has this face - it's worse than his mother's. The smoothness of the man's eyelids, lacking amused creases; the thin mouth pressed into unease. Despite his beat, Chanyeol's normally so goddamn happy that when he isn't, it's a big event. The thought of Chanyeol worrying or passing judgment on him, especially in public, makes Junmyeon a little sick to his stomach. The headache is tap dancing now.

The train progresses at the same slow, casual pace it always does, and he checks his messages, making sure Chanyeol's number is there and Sehun hasn't called. Eventually, Yeongdeungpo-gu Office Station comes up, and Junmyeon stows his phone in his back pocket, hauling himself to his feet and dragging ass out of the train.

The block and a half back to his flat isn't a difficult walk, but it feels uphill in a snowstorm, hell on his aching muscles, his bruised hands, his slightly-bleeding knuckles, and his weary mind. He's always genuinely glad to see Sehun, solely for the fact that he's alive and sometimes feels good enough to sass him and complain, but he's also terrified every time he comes into his own home. Sehun's anger is a tangible thing at this point, and it plays into Junmyeon's, which doesn't help either of them - there have been nights where they've both wound up crying or breaking things or both. He hates the rage - and he hates that he has no power to make it leave them be; he can't even turn it on itself. He has to accept its presence as necessary and understandable, and hope it dissipates one day. Junmyeon's not good at hoping.

Thankfully, Sehun's more than half asleep when Junmyeon opens the door, locking it behind him. Since the hospital hadn't wanted to let him out after surgery to go home to an empty flat - not least of all one that was still an active crime scene - Junmyeon had volunteered his place. It's been sort of nice to come home to someone who gives a damn about him, even if it's exhausting sometimes. Right now, though, Sehun's lying on the couch, listening to the TV news, but Junmyeon can see his chin dropping onto his chest as he takes his shoes off. His face almost looks normal again, though the right eye is slightly sunken, making his eyelids look askew. "Hey." He says, not sure if Sehun will answer, but wanting to speak so he knows who's here. "Want me to turn that off?"

"Hm? Yeah." Sehun's vocal cords are thick with sleep and disuse. "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it." Junmyeon crosses the room, turning the dial to click off his ancient television set. "Sorry I don't have a better one; the picture must be shit. I'm not home enough to need one."

"Doesn't matter to me." Sehun raises one battered eyebrow, saying nothing else.

Junmyeon inwardly flagellates himself, surprised Sehun isn't yelling. Hell, he would. "Sorry. I'm an idiot. I need to sleep; I've been out all night. You might want to, too." It's a subtle request to come to bed with him, not even for sex, just for warmth. "Really, I don't mean to be a moron."

"I know. It's fine." Sehun eases himself to a sitting position, looking up at Junmyeon, though he doesn't strictly need to, and extending his arms. Junmyeon restrains his surprise, holding Sehun's hands and pulling him to his feet, keeping one hand afterward to help him toward the bedroom. This is possibly the most continuous physical contact they've had in a month, and while he can't help but admire the aquiline cut of Sehun's profile, he doesn't dare try anything. Not yet.

Sehun seems to sense what he's thinking, and as soon as his calf touches the edge of the bed, he lets Junmyeon's hand go, starting to unbutton his shirt. They argued about that shirt that morning, with Sehun insisting he could button it himself and Junmyeon hating himself for doubting. They don't say anything now, each just undressing and crawling in between the sheets. Sehun immediately turns his back to the window, curling into a ball, and while Junmyeon is reasonably sure it's at least partly to avoid the chilly breeze on his healing face, it doesn't feel good that Sehun stays curled up, all night, away from him, in an un-huggable ball. Junmyeon just closes his eyes and tries, fitfully, to sleep.

Sehun isn't even in bed with him when he wakes, and it's a jarring feeling to have rage be the first coherent emotion of the day, or technically night as it's twilight when Junmyeon's eyes open. He gets up, goes to take a leak, and checks his messages after washing his hands. Nothing from Sehun - he's probably on the roof; he likes to go up there and brood, and he can find his way there without help - but there is one from Chanyeol, over at _Chosun Ilbo._

He hits play, confused, trapping the phone between his chin and shoulder as he grabs for clean clothes. "Hey. It's Park Chanyeol." As if Junmyeon hadn't spent a few months moaning his name. The unfamiliarity irritates Junmyeon, but the next part makes him laugh. "Your creepy associate or friend or whatever called me and said you need info on a police case from Geumcheon-gu. Given that I don't want either you or him in my fucking newsroom, let me save you time: the guy you want is named Kim Jongin. He works in Itaewon, and he's got some in with the SMPA, I don't know what, given he's a dealer. But whatever, he gives me good info. So go find him at Bar 17, on Usadan-ro. Bye."

The phone clicks in Junmyeon's ear, and he lets it drop onto his bed, relaxing his shoulder as he pulls on a shirt and trousers, amused in spite of himself. He has an idea of who called Park - Kyungsoo does like to be helpful - but it'll have to wait for now. At least it saved him time. He's never been to Bar 17 - too visible; Itaewon is also known as Homo Hill, and he'd like to not get a reputation - but this gives him an excuse. Maybe this Jongin will know something; he isn't sure what Kyungsoo told Park, but hell, maybe he can check out the guy's business if nothing else. Byun-nim always likes knowing what his competitors are up to.

He calls Sehun, hoping he'll answer, but getting nothing. He leaves a message telling Sehun where he's going to be, and hopes Sehun might give a damn at some point. He's terrible at having Deep Conversations; every time he tries to ask what's wrong with anyone in his life, it all somehow turns into some clusterfuck of mistaken assumptions and so much jumping to conclusions that he'd bet that pogo sticks are somehow involved. He'd swear that Sehun was into him. At least he had been for the past three months. It's only in the last three weeks or so that things have been getting distant. And now this.

Junmyeon leaves the flat, locking the door after him since Sehun has his own key. It would take almost an hour to get to the Hill by public transport, but he doesn't want to run the risk of a taxi. So he sucks it up and takes the subway trip, switching lines at Hapjeong, then more stops to Itaewon station.

Once on the street, he can blend with the young crowd, especially today, when he's actually dressed like he has money. Normally it's not safe, especially in tourist areas; getting rolled invites too much comment. Comment is bad for business. But he has to look the part when he approaches this Jongin; a dealer is just not going to look twice at anyone who looks too poor, too humble, too soft. So he's got on his best shirt, and the trousers that hug his ass like a particularly nubile lover. He'll have to hope for the best.

Bar 17 is in the basement of a sturdy, squat building, and it's surprisingly empty for the hour. The floor is populated, but Junmyeon has planned for batshit craziness, and he isn't seeing it. It worries him slightly. He doesn't like being exposed; crowds are his camouflage. He's not ashamed of who he is, but he worries for professional reasons. He's pretty sure his boss already knows and doesn't care, and his parents are dead, but rivals will still see him as some kind of pussy if his sexuality becomes common knowledge. Junmyeon never wants to have to prove how tough he is.

The music shifts as he sidles up to the bar, ordering a shot of rum. The go-go boys appear out of overdone puffs of smoke, and Junmyeon winces, trying to will the fumes out of his eyes. It's awkward to see the boys dressed like it's 1979, complete with oiled chests and tearaway trousers. The booths are slick and modern, the lighting looks new, and the clientele is, if not necessarily moneyed, comfortable - the entertainment should be the same. Still, the university kids on the floor are cheering and hooting at the glistening flesh, and Junmyeon feels nothing so much as old.

He tips the rum down his throat and debates, restless hands folded on the bar in front of him, thumbs rubbing against each other. How is he going to find Jongin? Park hadn't given him any clues about what the guy looks like, and Junmyeon knows that it's late enough now that if he calls, Park will ostentatiously ignore it. Kyungsoo might know, but it'll take forever to get through to him. He's usually hunting on these nights.

Junmyeon sighs, moodily looking around, not sure where to start. He restlessly scans the crowd, trying to find the employees. Fuck, he doesn't even know how old this guy is.

He's about to ask the bartender when there's a tap on his shoulder, and he turns around to see a dark-eyed, full-lipped boy, sweaty, tortoiseshell hair a mess, looking relaxed but exhilarated. He opens his mouth to ask who's bothering him, but the boy chuckles. "You must be Junmyeon. Park told me to watch out for a guy who looked way too preoccupied to be here. As well as, y'know. What you looked like."

Junmyeon smiles. "You must be Jongin." It's a stupid rejoinder - who else would be looking for him specifically at Park's behest? - but it's a stall for time more than anything; while he'd bet a decent amount of his rent money that the boy is sober, he still looks exhilarated from something. He also looks like he's just been fucked against a bathroom wall - his eye makeup is a mess, and there's a noticeable bruise on his neck. Junmyeon manually removes his thoughts from the gutter and says, "Thanks for seeing me."

"No problem." The bartender silently brings Jongin a bottle of water, and he tosses some of it back while Junmyeon orders a rum on the rocks - it's hot as hell in here. Jongin tips some of the water over his face, sighing and running a palm downward after it, fucking up his makeup even more. "You wanted to know about the assault in Geumcheon-gu?"

It's hard for Junmyeon to focus, which makes him snappish. "Yeah. Park couldn't be bothered to see me and give me the info he had. And it's kind of important."

"I don't know much, but I'll give you what I know. I'm guessing you know the guy who got beat up?" Jongin's eyes are surprisingly guileless, full of sympathy. "There's kind of been a shake-up in Geumcheon-gu and Guro-gu - like, most places south of the river, really - so maybe Park just didn't have time to explain it all. The SMPA's having kind of a ... thing." He nods his head toward a back door almost hidden by the drag show posters on the wall, gesturing with the water bottle. "Let's go someplace less loud and I'll tell you what's up."

Junmyeon has been invited into many traps in his lifetime, and this doesn't feel like a trap. "After you, then," he says, and is instantly aware of how that could be taken as flirtation. He lays down enough to cover his bill, hoping Jongin doesn't exploit whatever this is, but immediately feels himself biting his lip as the boy walks away with a smile toward the back door. Junmyeon watches and wonders if Jongin is one of the dancers, or a gymnast, or something - he moves like a queen walking to her beheading, all grace and yet humility. It's captivating, and it worries him.

Once they're through the door, Jongin closes it and walks over, less manic, but still smiling. Junmyeon is the one who broaches the subject of business first - better to get it out of the way. "So, what did you mean when you said the SMPA was getting shaken up south of the river?"

Jongin shrugs, going over to the beat-up desk in the room and turning the lamp on. He sits and kicks his feet up with an incongruous grin. "I don't know all the details. But from what I know, Guro-gu was the headquarters for some kind of anti-gang thing. Big task force, all that. It isn't anymore."

"It isn't?"

"Nope. Everything's fucked up over there. Which means the cops won't be much help in solving your assault. Too much is going on." Jongin looks up at Junmyeon, and if he didn't know better, he'd swear the boy is giving him the once-over. "Even the cop the case is assigned to was on some gang-related assignment, and fuck-all's been done with it." He shakes his head, but the weird, elfin smile remains plastered on his plush lips. "I think they were trying to run some big gang push - from what I hear, pushing the Chinese out of the river districts - and something went wrong."

"The Chinese?" Junmyeon echoes. Somehow he's crossed the room to lean against the desk, looking down at the boy as his muscles relax. "So they weren't focusing on the Korean gangs?" The Chinese hate Byun, for reasons he doesn't quite grasp. He's heard it has to do with Baekhyun refusing to run girls - he sticks to gambling only, and demands all his boys do the same. Pimping out women, especially if Byun finds one bruise on a girl when he's looking, is punishable, most often by losing something a guy is kind of attached to.

"Nah." Jongin flat out giggles, looking up at Junmyeon like he's made a primary school pun. "Half of SMPA is on Byun's payroll anyway, you know that. Talk about shooting yourself in the foot."

"How do you know that? You're not one of his, are you?" Call him curious.

"Sort of." Jongin licks his lips idly, crossing his legs right over left. "My uncle's an immigration inspector, so I can get Byun some stuff he doesn't necessarily want going through his official channels." He reaches into his pocket, holding out a small, powdery tab with a heart on it, colored a pale shade of orange, before stowing it again. "Byun-nim likes to make sure he does his best for his lady friends. And his gentlemen callers. And this shit is ... well. It makes me kind of nice to have around, I guess." His grin is indolent now, lazy and amused. Junmyeon hates how attractive it is. "A couple of Dongjak-gu cops buy from me, and they like to gossip. So I hear things that Byun - and Park - pay well to know."

Junmyeon has to admit, it's a sweet racket. He's seen drugs like that, but never tried them, but he can't help arching one eyebrow. "Byun needs that kind of help in the sack?"

"It's not Viagra." Jongin laughs. "It makes everything ... _more_. Like, sensations. Extra intense. Just ... really worth it. Too much can make coming harder, but little micro doses, like one pill at a time? Yeah." He shrugs, grinning. "It's not for everybody, but it can ... yeah. Anyway."

"Nice." Interesting. But he gets back to business, at least for now. "But yeah, anyway. How can you be so sure the cops won't be helpful in figuring out who fucked up Byun's guy?" He doesn't mention Sehun's name. Why mention Sehun's name?

"They might. I'm just saying the odds aren't good." Jongin shrugs one shoulder. "When I say shit's going down, I mean it is going down. Like, I heard one of their undercover guys went rogue. That means a _lot_ of ass-covering."

"Rogue? How?"

"Like, isn't reporting to SMPA anymore and has a hostage." Jongin's eyebrows raise in a decent attempt to look concerned. "They're thinking the Chinese might have him, or might have helped him."

Junmyeon shakes his head, amused in spite of himself. All he knows about his boss's Chinese counterparts are that they sell the same stuff, at slightly undercut prices, and their leader in Korea is a flashy, trash-talking little asshole who should probably, by rights, be dead already. But, they do hate Byun, and they could have wanted to send a message. Or they might know something, if he approaches them as an individual and not a member of Byun's gang. "If they didn't, they must be having a shit fit."

"Yeah." Jongin chuckles. "I bet they are."

Neither of them talk for a few minutes. Junmyeon's thinking about everything and nothing, frustrated, resigned, and idly watching the rise and fall of Jongin's chest as he lays back in the chair, seemingly relaxing. The sigh escapes, sharp and growling, and he shakes his head as Jongin looks up. "Just pissed off. Not at you."

"You look it." Jongin raises an eyebrow at Junmyeon again, a flippant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Like, I'm sure you have a lot on your plate, but when's the last time you actually relaxed?"

Junmyeon smiles, but his heart isn't in it. "A long fucking while, honestly." Probably the last time he'd seen Sehun before leaving for Yanbian. They'd watched a movie, laughed, fucked, and fallen asleep for a solid eight hours. It's a nice memory.

"Sounds like I should do you a favor." Jongin sits up in the chair, feet coming off the desk, smiling up at Junmyeon. Though this time there's something more behind it than good humor. "Maybe two."

"A favor?" Junmyeon echoes, instantly suspicious. "Favors" have consequences in his world.

But Jongin's shaking his head, and Junmyeon isn't sure how, but the orange tab has wound up in his hand. He looks over at the boy, who's still eyeing him with that smile. There's glitter in his hair, and it makes his tanned skin sparkle. "He doesn't care if you sample the merchandise?"

The smile broadens as Jongin laughs, playfully hitting Junmyeon's thigh with an open palm. "It's my merchandise!" Junmyeon's struck by the expressiveness of this boy's face; where it was totally unsophisticated not five minutes ago, the amused narrowing of his eyes now makes him look arch and resigned, like some Romantic poet sick of the world. "He doesn't get it for me; I get it for him. And me." He smiles. "I don't make a habit of it - shit'll kill you - but on party nights?" He shrugs. "Why, are you Morally Opposed?"

His tone gives it capital letters, and while Junmyeon doesn't feel pressured, he does feel tired. Jongin is being helpful, but he's essentially at a dead end, being warned about another dead end. It's not like he can walk into a police station, with his connections, and just ask what's going on.

He sighs. Right now, he doesn't even know where Sehun is. The words fall out of his mouth. "You first."

Junmyeon half expects Jongin to blink, to shake his head, to say he wasn't offering someone he barely knows a sample of his merchandise. Or anything else. Instead, though, Jongin just smiles, biting his lip, a faint crook of the mouth that looks delicious and deviant all at once. Junmyeon wonders what his game is, or if he's just trying to give a guy some stress relief out of the goodness of his heart. "Me first? Okay. Probably smart, if you've never tried it before." Jongin kicks his feet back up on the desk, taking out a tin of what looks like mints from a pocket. He grins at Junmyeon, tilting his head back and opening his mouth. He drops the tablet onto his tongue, letting it sit there for just long enough before pressing his lips together. He swallows it whole, or close to whole, breathing in through his nose with a contented, heavy-lidded look.

Junmyeon can't tear his eyes away from Jongin's neck, long and lithe and on full display. With his head tilted slightly back, Jongin's eyes look hooded and secretive, and while Junmyeon would bet the drug doesn't take effect right away, Jongin already looks blissed out, lips slightly parted and body relaxed, lean muscles at rest as he leans back in the chair again. And it's been a very, very long time since Junmyeon got laid. As Jongin apparently guessed.

Junmyeon's lips have to work to form the other question that's been sitting on his tongue like a chocolate truffle for a few minutes now. "What's the other favor?"

Instead of replying, Jongin opens his eyes, gets out of the chair, rests a hand on the back of Junmyeon's neck, and leans in. Junmyeon's not sure, nor will he ever be, who kisses who first.

All he knows is he's leaning against the heavy desk, one arm around Jongin's trim waist, the other bracing his weight so he doesn't fall backward and hit his head on the wall, cupping the tablet between his fingers. Kissing Jongin is different than kissing Sehun, and at first, it's fucking weird; Sehun holds back, almost coyly, but Jongin puts his whole self into his kisses, and it's dizzying. Junmyeon's starved for breath when they finally let go, and he looks up at Jongin breathing hard, but the giggles burst up out of nowhere - just one or two, but it's borderline euphoric, and he's nowhere near chemically compromised.

The orange tablet is still in his hand, and Junmyeon pops it in his mouth without another thought. Jongin grins - "You're cute," he breathes against Junmyeon's neck - and goes back to those kisses, those overwhelming, all-encompassing kisses that are making Junmyeon's head spin and his groin react. And most drugs, Junmyeon knows, take ten or twenty minutes to really take effect. He may, he thinks, go into orbit when it really kicks in.

Jongin's long fingers are pulling at his belt, but they pause when Junmyeon registers surprise - still, he's quick to reassure, yes, good, go ahead, and Jongin resumes what he's doing as Junmyeon kisses down his jaw. He tastes tacky and sweet, like body glitter, but there's a honeyed note underneath that draws Junmyeon in even more. He bites lightly, okay, not-so-lightly, on the visible muscle in Jongin's neck, enjoying the faint groan, the wobbly, impressed smile. But then his belt is gone and he can feel Jongin's hand reaching to grip him and stroke him through his trousers. His touch is firm enough that Junmyeon has to will his knees to stay un-locked, and he prays to any god listening that he doesn't make a fool of himself.

It's an old dance, and Junmyeon knows it well, but his steps keep being preempted. He wants to reciprocate, to not be an asshole, frankly, but Jongin just keeps going, letting his kisses travel down the jaw line, nosing into Junmyeon's sweaty shirt as he opens it, fumbling with the buttons. Junmyeon's hands have found Jongin's hair, surprisingly soft for how sweaty and gritty it should be, but he doesn't pull it, at least not yet. He wants to do more, to put this on more equal footing - right now it feels like he's going to owe Jongin, and he hates owing people anything - but Jongin's lips and tongue and fingers freeze him, turn him into an idiot panting for more.

Now Jongin is on his knees, pulling Junmyeon's trousers out of his way, the glitter slashed across his high cheekbones visible thanks to the light on the desk now being above him instead of below. It gives him an unreal affect, and Junmyeon wonders if he's dreaming. He's only just now aware of what's become a painful erection, but soon the cool air around him is invaded by Jongin's sharp, heated presence, and he watches Jongin take a deep breath and swallow him down. The boy has a gag reflex, but not much of one, and Junmyeon whines through sudden clenched teeth, unprepared for the intense sensations. Either the drugs are starting to kick in, it's been a _really_ long time since he got laid, or Jongin's some kind of blow job god. Or all three.

He's still leaning against the desk, but his knees are unsteady, and now he can't stop smiling. Some boys take their time, but Jongin is apparently less of a tease; he seems satisfied, even happy, with every noise Junmyeon makes, and oh, he's making more than a few. He knows he's always been an obnoxiously loud fuck, but normally he can keep it together better during a blow job. And yet, Junmyeon doesn't care; he's happy, relaxed, being exactly who he is and reacting how he wants to react. There have been times before when he's felt awkward or ashamed in moments like this, but right now all he can see is the hot light of the desk lamp and the tendrils of wispy hair dancing across Jongin's forehead as he tongues the underside of Junmyeon's cock with a finesse that borders on the mind-blowing.

He doesn't realize he's all but shivering, giggling faintly as he kneads through Jongin's hair, every little move feeling magnified threefold. Junmyeon is wondering dizzily how strong a full dose would be, if this much is so ... eye-opening. He normally would worry about making a twat of himself, frankly, but it strikes him as so irrelevant right now that it's beneath his notice. For once, Junmyeon wants to live in the moment, and he's more than a bit grateful to Jongin for helping him get here.

In order to stop the stupid compliments Junmyeon can feel bubbling to the surface in his throat, he fumbles for Jongin's hair and yanks, grinning when Jongin groans. He feels Jongin letting his throat go slack, and when the boy bobs his head down further on Junmyeon's dick, it's almost painful how good it feels. It's been too long, and every nerve in his body is attuned to the feeling of Jongin's fingers cupping around his balls, Jongin faintly moaning as he shifts on his knees, Jongin's tongue touching almost to the base of his shaft, just _Jongin_ and everything Jongin.

Junmyeon remembers what Jongin said earlier about _too much_ , but this isn't too much; it's just enough, and almost without warning at all he feels release coiling in his gut. He tries to warn Jongin, but the boy just breathes out, fingers brushing greedily, catching against the sweat-dampened skin of his thighs and hips and ass. Jongin's hands grip behind him, kneading the soft flesh, one, then two fingers teasing just inside Junmyeon, and he can hear Jongin groan low in his throat. Junmyeon's hips almost come off the desk from the sheer glut of sensation, and he tries to stop it, but the pill is winning. He's had his prostate played with before, but when every sensation is metamorphosizing into something much bigger than itself, it's borderline painful, in the most amazing way, and he's just not ready for anything close to that; not right now. Even the teasing touches, just barely inside him, feel like they're brushing against some incredibly sensitive part of his body and mind.

He tries to apologize with gentle touches, strokes of Jongin's hair, but he can't help himself; the orgasm is brief, abrupt, and intense. He feels Jongin swallow hard around him, and again, trying to milk every last drop, leaving him dizzy and euphoric. Junmyeon laughs, neck going limp, exhilarated, grabbing Jongin by the collar and pulling him to his feet for a bruising kiss, mind focused on reciprocation. It's damn near overheated, raspy breaths meshing as Jongin saws his lips, and Junmyeon takes the chance to slide a hand inside Jongin's tight trousers, relieving the pressure by unzipping him with the other hand. Jongin groans and ruts against his fingers, erection brushing into Junmyeon's palm, and when the pants are out of the way, he begs, a soft, " _Please_ ," breathed against Junmyeon's half-open mouth. 

Even giving someone else an orgasm is profound on this stuff; Junmyeon wraps a hand around Jongin's cock and starts to stroke firmly, letting his mouth nip confident kisses on the boy's tanned neck and collarbones. It won't take long to make Jongin come at this rate, and Junmyeon sucks hard on a point of skin, feeling smugly satisfied when Jongin moans louder than before. His lean body arches against Junmyeon's hand and chest, rolling like a dancer, and Junmyeon speeds up his pace, grabbing Jongin's mouth with his again. He can barely breathe, and his wrist might hurt, but it's all worth it when Jongin grinds out a harsh " _Fuuuuck!_ ," holding onto the vowel as he comes into Junmyeon's hand, still wrapped around his dick. He's laughing breathlessly, though, and he keeps his hold on Junmyeon, their foreheads pressed together, sticky with sweat. 

They don't release each other right away, and even when they do, they don't go far. Junmyeon feels blearily connected, somehow, drawn to this man with his dark eyes and that manic fucking grin. Jongin looks like he could propose a trip to some insane place in the same breath as suggesting going for a beer, and Junmyeon finds it intriguing. Even fun. 

He's about to say more when Jongin speaks, looking serious, while on the verge of giggles. "I really want to fuck you." He says it casually, smiling, eyes back to being guileless even as Junmyeon knows he's being undressed in Jongin's mind. "Like, for real. My place? I think you'd come so pretty." 

His head is buzzing, and the thought of being fucked properly by Jongin sends other thoughts scattering like pigeons from a yelling child. "Yes," Junmyeon says, grinning himself, closing his eyes and laughing. "Take me there." 

The phone ringing is almost an afterthought, but something does finally convince him to pick it up, jabbing at the screen with a clean finger until the number showed up. "Sajangnim!" Junmyeon tries to focus, to remember how to speak to the person now calling him, but it's difficult. "Hello, Byun-sajangnim!"

The voice on the other end of the line laughs, a sweet, pleasant noise that tickles Junmyeon's ears. "Junmyeon. I've told you, the honorific is enough. No need to use my title when we're off the clock."

"Byun- _ssi_!" Junmyeon tries his best to comply. "What can I do for you, sir?" 

Another laugh; he's guessing his boss can tell he's fucked up, but he can't find it in him to care. His boss doesn't seem to, either. "I just wanted to check in; I'm told you've been trying to find out the identity of Mr. Oh's attacker." 

"Yessir!" See Junmyeon work. Work, Junmyeon, work. "But Jongin - that is, my informant - said the cops won't be much help because of some shake-up in the district where it happened; they're more focused on bringing their rogue cop in from the cold, so some assault is low priority." He's still smiling. "He said the Chinese might be a better bet to ask - they might even have done it. I mean, they hate you." 

"Ah, Jongin. He does good work - and his information's usually good. That's news about the SMPA shakeup, though." A pause on the line. Junmyeon has to force himself to pay attention. "Either way. I can give you one more piece of information that I just discovered. Apparently the case has been assigned to a detective rumored to take bribes from the Chinese. It may be that 'rogue cop.'" 

"Bribes? From the Chinese?" Junmyeon echoes, knowing this is important even if it's killing his buzz a little. "So he might have led them to Sehunnie? Or helped them send you a message? Byun- _ssi_?"

"Yes, maybe." His boss sighs. "It's really a mess. I thought you might want to try and find him. You're very good at that kind of thing."

"What's the cop's name, sir?" Junmyeon asks, knowing he should write it down and clumsily grabbing a piece of paper from the now-disordered desk.

"Kim, like so many in this country," his boss replies. "Kim Minseok. He was seen in the country about a month ago, in Nangok-dong, south of the river. He may have returned to China, though." 

Junmyeon carefully writes down the name, and tries to respond to his boss, telling him that he's on the case, that he'll find this piece of shit Detective Kim and make him do a real job on who attacked Sehunnie. ( _Sehunnie._ ) But somehow, the words don't come, and he just disconnects, smiling, looking back to Jongin. They still have business.

*** 

Byun Baekhyun looks at the now-dead phone in his hand. He's not offended. His underling is clearly enjoying himself, and if he's doing it with Jongin, so much the better.

He dials another number, one he knows goes to a burner phone, to be easily discarded in the event of emergency. Still, he hasn't called it in over a month, so it may still work. 

It does work. The number rings twice, and a man picks up. "Sajangnim." 

He laughs. "You're ballsy, picking up, Minseok. Why didn't you ditch this phone?" The other man hesitates, and Baekhyun pounces, though he does it so smoothly that he hopes Minseok doesn't notice the danger. "You're still thinking about my offer, aren't you?"

"It's not mine to think about." Minseok sounds exhausted, and Baekhyun senses extreme strain. "It's his decision, and he's been in a bad way lately." 

Baekhyun snorts. "I bet, given that he almost killed his ex. Delicate little flower. That was him, wasn't it? My guy? Blinded now?"

Dead silence on the other end of the line. Baekhyun full on laughs this time. "How have you lived this long, Minseok? You must be a fucking terrible card player." He lets an edge creep into his voice. "Tell that little brat that my offer stands for two more weeks. If he doesn't come to me, give me the lists he promised, and grovel - and for that matter, if _you_ don't come to me and grovel - I'll let a talented underling of mine find you both and have some fun. He's in love with the Oh boy; you can surely understand his pain, right?" 

He can't even hear Minseok breathing on the other end of the line. He does exactly as Junmyeon did to him, and disconnects the line, smiling softly to himself.


End file.
